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The Smith's Helmet (Story)
The day began like any other, the Blacksmith and his son working with their machinery, hammers clanging down on armor like weapons on a battlefield. The heat in the smith was immense, sparks flying in the air as though it was opposite day in the middle of winter, the blacksmith wiping his brow, and watching his son. His son was a strong young man, especially for his age, boasting muscles that would make even some adults jealous of his sheer muscularity. His father was about to continue work, when the winds picked up from the window, and sent the sparks flying into the wooden walls of the smithery, starting a fire. The father panicked, and quickly shook his son, who had not realized it. His son was too focused on the task at hand, but after a few moments, he snapped out of it, gazing at his father with worry in his eyes. The father quickly pointed to the fire, and they attempted to leave from the window, however the wind had picked up harder, unnaturally; The mark of magical winds. The father and son tried to flee from the burning building, the father protecting his son the best that he could, rushing out of the blazing building, hotter than the oven of Satan himself. They were almost out the door, when another wind picked up, sending them flying into a burning wall, his son's head crashing through the wood. His father panicked, his vision going dark, when he quickly pushed through one last time, taking them out of the burning building. He gently laid his son down, and began to wept, for his son now lacked a head of any kind at all. The father could not bear it, and he began to mourn both the loss of his son, and of his job. However, he knew people. He knew powerful people, and they owed him favors. He borrowed the might of a necromancer, and a new forge, to begin constructing a new head for his lost son. Day and night he toiled, the necromancer's magic enough to keep the son's body from decomposing, until after a month, the head was completed. It was attached to the body, sewn and completely rigged as though it were meant to fit forever... Which it was. His son sprang to life almost immediately, and the father was overjoyed, when he saw that the helmet's eyes for his new head lacked any emotion of love. The father tried to remove the head, to fix the problem, when the son shoved him back. The father did not know what to do, and the necromancer could not control this raised adolescent. The son recognized one thing, and that was that what he needed had to be pounded into shape. He grabbed the hammer that he always kept in his pocket, and bludgeoned his father's skull in, the helmet forcing the son things he would never have done in a thousand years. The necromancy fled, and was forced to the top of the tower they had brought him back, when he had jumped off. The helmet did not understand the necromancy, or even its host, would die on impact, but still it jumped down after him. The necromancy was reduced to paste, however, only the helmet hit impact with the ground. Days later, the one now known to many as The Dark Smith arose, his helmet receiving enough damage to give the son a new personality. One less prone to extreme violence. The dark smith, however, did not know that the dead corpse in the tower was his father. Merely that he was a dead man, one that was irrelevant to him now, yet he felt a sense of longing. He left behind the tower, after that, the feelings with no memories being too haunting down his spine, and he never turned back. Category:Stories